


memory

by Hellanim (Helasdottir)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dissociative Amnesia, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Gen, Memory, mental health, other specified dissociative disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helasdottir/pseuds/Hellanim
Summary: A reflection on memory, lost and retained in different forms.
Kudos: 10





	memory

There is a distinct difference between knowing and remembering past events. I know much of what happened to me, but I struggle to remember, to retain clear images or any emotional recollection of these events that supposedly shaped me into the adult I am today.

It is not always black and white. Some memories are pieced together with fragments of emotions, knowledge and true memories to paint a fuller picture of my past. Some are silent movies playing on a distant, black and white screen, seen only through the static of my internal protective barriers. Some are only feelings, floating without context, abstract paintings of intense color with no canvas to cling to. Most of these pieces of memory are not timestamped, leaving me to curate them in the order that seems most logical, to guess where and when each piece is supposed to go when creating the timeline of what brought me here.

I may need to exemplify. I know I suffered an accident at eight years old. I know I was taken to the emergency care facility and the impact zone was examined thoroughly to identify the physical damage. I know I was in pain, but I did not scream. I do not remember this. I _remember_ a fireman telling me I was lucky, that I could have been paralyzed had the impact been any harder. I remember being put onto a hard, wooden stretcher and asking the firefighters hovering over me if they needed to put me in a neck brace.

Similar to this, I remember the dirt road leading to the wooden arch that marked the entrance to an ecological park, to what once was home. I remember the woods within the park, large _Araucaria angustifolia_ trees jutting from the ground – one so thick around that ten children needed to hold hands in order to embrace it. I know I was alone then, alone in my mind, but I do not remember it.

I have never been alone, not in my memory. Eighteen years of constant companionship will make one forget the internal loneliness most people experience. All things considered; this should not be surprising to me – to _us_. No. Surprising is the wrong word. There are many wrong words, many new words replacing them, and I have yet to learn them all.

We were not surprised; we were unprepared.


End file.
